


the other side

by akamarks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamarks/pseuds/akamarks
Summary: Do you believe in loving someone before you've  met? That outside the world, there there are two beating hearts meant for each other and that when the time is right, the moment their eyes meet, that they have known each other for all their lives?A story of Draco Malfoy, the Boy Without a Choice and his struggle to come to terms with his past, who he is and the person who he can be all the while, finding it within himself to believe that he is capable of love.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The blanket silence of the Malfoy Manor was broken by the cry of a new-born, the shrill and piercing sound ricocheting off surfaces, creating a cacophony of noise, an unpleasant change to the house that had not heard such a sound in years.

'I-is he alright?" Narcissa whispered hoarsely as she whimpered. Yes, magic could solve almost everything but no amount of pain lessening spells could have prepared her for the experience that she had just gone through.

Of course, she could have gone to St Mungo's to deliver her child, but ever since the Dark Lord was vanquished by the Boy Who Lived, little Harry Potter, all former Death Eaters had either fled or plead the influence of the Imperius Curse. Lucius had thrown all the money and influence at his disposal to ensure that he and his wife would never see the cold cells of Azkaban. When it came to the crimes of the Dark Lord, the Ministry showed mercy to no one, not even women who were 7 months pregnant.

"Narcissa,' her husband's sharp voice said, bringing her out of her hazy, pain filled trip down memory lane. Lucius kneeled down next to her and delicately placed the baby boy in her arms. A rush of emotion surged inside her, something she hadn't felt in so long she nearly gasped from the warmth. It was as if her heart which had been shrinking and withering in the overwhelming darkness of Death Eaters, killings and plots of the Dark Lord, was suddenly illuminated with love and hope.

All because of the one little boy in her arms that was cooing in her arms, his clear sky-blue eyes perfectly matching his father's.

"What should we name him?" she asked her husband, whose stoic face remained unchanged even as he looked down at his firstborn son.

"Draco." he said simply, taking one more glance at the baby before standing up swiftly.

Narcissa glanced down at her son, the descendant of one of the most pure-blood lines in magical history, Salazar Slytherin. She supposed, holding him to her chest as she rocked him slowly to sleep, his incessant crying now reducing to soft baby like gurgles, Draco seemed an apt name considering their lineage.

Latin for serpent or dragon, she whispered his name softly into his new-born ears.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

11 years later 

The patch of platinum blonde was the only spot of brightness in the otherwise dull hallway. The only son of the Malfoy family, Draco paced nervously, as he attempted to make out what his parents were saying in their room that was only a push of the gigantic, intricately carved double doors away. 

Finally, resigned to his fate, he slumped against the wall next to the doors, deciding to just wait and see what conclusion his parents came to. Staring down what seemed to be an infinite hallway, he buried his head between his knees, waiting, yet again, like everything in his life, for things to be decided for him.  
Lucius and Narcissa 

“I REFUSE TO SEND MY SON TO THAT CRACKPOT MUGGLE LOVING DISGRACE OF A SCHOOL!” Lucius roared as he rubbed his wand between his fingers, glaring at his wife who was clutching at the owl-delivered letter that had arrived earlier this morning. 

There had been a strained silence between the both of them when the owl had swooped down on the table, bearing the familiar logo. Draco had instinctively reached for it, noticing that it was addressed to him, but before he could so much as touch the envelope, it had been whisked away by his father. 

“Draco,’ he had said in a low yet commanding voice. “Go to your room,’ 

“B-but that’s my Hogwarts admission letter!” his son protested vehemently, eyeing the piece of parchment. 

“Draco don’t argue with your father.’ his mother reminded him softly, as she watched her son hang his head, conceding defeat, albeit it reluctantly. 

Mumbling something under his breath, Draco, pushed his chair back with a frightening groan against the wooden floor, clomping upstairs, his every footstep reverberating through the dining hall. 

“Must I remind you that you went to that crackpot muggle loving school?” Narcissa responded coolly. 

‘Well, yes,’ Lucius threw his arms in the air, a show of admittance. “But that was before Albus Dumbledore,’ he spat the name out as if it tasted foul. “Took over. Now he’s accepting Mudbloods into Hogwarts, as if our lineage isn’t tainted enough as it is. I’d much rather send him to Durmstrang, where they teach him more practical subjects. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Bah!” was Lucius’s concluding statement before throwing himself onto the chair next to the fireplace. 

“DURMSTRANG?” It was Narcissa’s turn to be furious. “You are not sending our son away to freeze to death in some school in Europe just so that can learn the Dark Arts!” her shrill voice rose with each word. 

“And have you forgotten, Lucius you utter fool, the Ministry is watching us,’ she hissed. “They might have forgiven us, but no they have not forgotten. Do you want to sully your good name with them and get ourselves re-investigated?” Her voice dipped in pitch, she was clearly exhausted, she hated going against her husband. “Please Lucius, use your head. Send Draco to Hogwarts. It’s close enough that he can come back and visit us, we were both raised at that school, and you already know he’s going to be in Slytherin so why worry? Even Parkinson, Flint, hell Crabbe and Goyle are sending their children there. They’re all doing the smart thing and-,’ 

Before she could further her tirade, Lucius held a hand up to stop her. He was staring out of the window, surveying the crisp green lawns that surrounded the Malfoy mansion as his seven years of memories crashed through his consciousness, like a wave in high tide. Flahses of winning the House Cup, Quidditch and being a Prefect swam in his brain. 

“Very well. Draco will go to Hogwarts, you will bring him to Diagon Alley next week to get his supplies and we will both send him off on nine and three quarters on the 1st,’ Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose as he came to his decision. 

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. “I suppose I’m allowed to tell him now.’ she said with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. 

“Yes yes,’ was the mumbled reply she got. 

Draco 

Draco’s head jerked up as he heard the soft footfalls of his mother nearing the door. Getting up, he quickly brushed himself off, and attempted to act indifferent, non-chalant, not like he had been waiting outside for the past 30 minutes, as pathetic as it was. 

When the doors opened, he found himself greeted by his mother’s smile, a rare occurrence. “Congratulations Draco, you’re going to Hogwarts,’ she said, handing him his acceptance and invitation letter, before heading off to the kitchen, presumably to order the house-elves to make dinner. 

Stunned, he looked down at the parchment that had suddenly set his course of life for the next seven years. He had heard countless stories of Hogwarts from his father and whenever it was mentioned there was a small bubble of hope that seemed to form inside of him. A place where he could finally, finally perform the magic that was running in his pure-blood veins, somewhere away from his parents, and, although he would rather hang himself before he confessed to it: he could no longer stand being alone in this huge manor without anyone his age to talk to. 

Finally, Draco thought. I’m not going to be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Look sharp Draco,' Lucius snapped as Narcissa smoothed down the front of his ridiculously elaborate suit. The button up that had been left on the foot of his bed after breakfast was borderline suffocating, and the coat that was layered on top of that made him feel like he was his own heat source that could rival the summer sun bearing into the room.

He gave himself a short once over in the mirror as the house-elf, Dobby, cleared his room with the snaps of his thin, long fingers.

He saw inside himself bits and pieces of his parents all stitched together. His father's platinum blonde hair and green eyes stared back at him as did his mother's sharp nose and jaw. Overall, he supposed he wasn't terrible looking, but after being stuffed inside the suit, he felt like an 11-year-old playing dress-up which was... spot on.

'Draco,' his father said sharply, bringing him back from his self-scrutiny in the mirror. "Were you listening to a word I said in the past three minutes?" Lucius demanded, as he knocked the butt of his staff against the wooden floor.

"Don't be so hard on him Lucius,' Narcissa sighed, as she finally flicked awa the last speck of dust on her son's suit, before placing her hands reassuringly on his shoulders, looking in the mirror with him.

'He's a Malfoy, he should know how to conduct himself,' her husband replied haughtily as he too approached the large gilded mirror. "Very well, I'll repeat myself again.'

'Stand up straight.'

Draco straightened his slouched spine.

'Hands by your side and no fidgeting.'

Instantly, the fluttering of Draco's hands halted and he kept them still at his sides.

Lifting the end of his staff, Lucius tilted his son's head up.

"And keep your head held high Draco, you're a Malfoy and I expect you to behave like one. Not like all these filthy Muggle-loving wizards and Mudbloods that seem to be increasing exponentially.'

"Lucius!" Narcissa gasped, aghast, clapping her hands to her son's ears, but the damage was done. "I know what to expect when I married into this family, but could you at least wait for a few years before teaching Draco such language?"

However, little did she know that her son, at this point was so used to the word that it no longer bothered him. If he had a Galleon for everytime he had heard his father use the word, he would probably be richer than both of his parents fortunes combined.

"Well if you're satisfied Lucius, we might as well get going." Narcissa said. With a flick of her wand the container of Floo Powder thwacked into her hand. Throwing a pinch into the fireplace Draco watched impassively as emerald green flames erupted out of nowhere. He was far too used when it came to travelling by Floo Powder that he was the first one to step into the flames.

"Diagon Alley," he announced loudly and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was his parents looking back at him, their expressions stern as the flames whirled him to his destination.

It seemed like a second later, his feet slammed onto solid ground, as he clumsily tumbled out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. He scowled at himself, seeing his pale white hands covered in soot. Even after 2 years of travelling by Floo Powder he still hadn't gotten the hang of landing gracefully on his feet, something his father never missed an opportunity to remind him. Well, at least it was better than his maiden voyage via the magical powder. He still remembered gasping on the floor after puking his guts out from the all the spinning and soot which had gotten caught in his throat. And it was definitely better than Side Apparition. The feeling of being squeezed in a tunnel made him far more claustrophobic than the whirlwind fireplace journey.

"Still on the floor I see Draco," almost as if he was summoned, Lucius commented. He stepped out, looking as spotless and effortless as ever. Narcissa followed closely by and clucking her tongue once, she flicked her wand at her son and he felt an invisible cloth wiping off the dirt on his face, providing him with a thorough cleaning.

"I told you not to bully him, Lucius,' Narcissa, muttered as she inspected Draco's face for anymore residue, before tugging him out of the tavern.

Draco watched as the rest of the wizards and witches eyed him and his parents with warily. He knew that it wasn't his fault but his parents', he hadn't even been born when both of them decided to join the ranks of the Dark Lord and attempt to take over the magical universe.

He had heard the story so many times, he could have told it in his sleep. Lord Voldermort or more commonly known as You-Know-Who had risen to power, wielding the Dark Arts to his advantage and had gone on a killing spree, murdering anyone who dared defy him in his pursuit to "clean" out the ranks of the magical community. Muggle-borns and even those with the slightest association with them were mercilessly slaughtered, as they considered "unclean" or not fit enough to practise magic.

The ancient magic families like the Malfoys, Blacks and Lestranges were absorbed into his ranks and christened the Death Eaters. Sometimes, if he saw his mother roll up her sleeves to perform a particularly difficult spell, he caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark, the serpentine tattoo that was coiled around a skull, that would burn every Death Eater's skin if they were summoned by the Dark Lord. In the past 11 years of his life, he had never seen his parents being summoned once, but he could sense the pain on his mother's face if she allowed herself to look at the tattoo, which was not often.

But then, came hope. Little Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had somehow vanquished Lord Voldermort when he was a mere 1 year old, escaping with nothing but a lightning-shaped scar cleaved onto his forehead, while the Dark Lord had been effectively obliterated. This had such a ripple effect on the magic world that the little baby was talked about to this day. However, it was rumoured that the famous Harry Potter was currently living with his extended Muggle family, something which had caused an uproar, when Albus Dumbledore refused to let any magical family adopt the little baby.

Like everyone in his generation, Draco had heard nothing but absolute praise for the boy with the lightning scar. He knew that they were roughly the same age and wondered vaguely whether he would be entering Hogwarts with him, or would the most famous child in the magical universe be raised the Muggle way, without him knowing what he had accomplished or what an impact he had had on everyone's life.

All of his daydreaming and wondering about the boy with the scar stopped when Draco realised that his parents were standing in front of Ollivanders, the only wand shop that was remotely acceptable for any magical child in Britain to obtain his or her wand. Suddenly, he could feel his palms slip and slide against each other with sweat, despite his father's earlier warnings not to fidget.

He had been waiting, dreaming for this moment to arrive his entire life, ever since he performed his accidental feat of magic 5 years ago. All he could remember was that he had been playing with some of the Malfoy coveted silverware. With his tiny hands he somehow managed to bend the silver spoon nearly in half. Over the years he would chuckle to himself at the memory when his mother walked in and he was using the spoon as a hammer to pound something on the floor. At first, he thought that it was time for him to get his ass handed to him, however, her scream was more of a scream of delight when she saw that he wasn't a Squib. Ever since the silverware spoon incident, Draco had snuck into his parents' room and held his mother's wand, trying feebly to perform some sort of magic with it, however no matter how hard he concentrated or how much he tried, the wand remained to just be a long pretty stick of wood, with zero magical capabilities whatsoever.

That was why, as his parents pushed the front door open, and they were greeted by the creaking of floorboards as they stepped into the store, he felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and excitement as he looked up at the seemingly infinitely tall cupboards where, in one small cubby, housed the wand that would choose him.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco stifled a cough with the back of his hand as the wizened face of Ollivander slowly drifted into view, like a ghost emerging from the entrance of the spirit world. Everyone knew that the old man was virtually ancient, having set up the wand shop in 382 B.C. and serving generations of witches and wizards ever since. 

‘Lucius, Narcissa,’ he inclined his head respectfully to both of Draco’s parents, his hand trembling slightly as he did so. 

His parents returned the gesture but spoke no more, as all of the old man’s attention had been diverted to their son. 

“Ahhhhh who do we have here?” Ollivander’s pale silvery eyes shone as he eyed Draco up and down, making the young boys slightly uncomfortable. 

“This is my our son, Ollivander,” Lucius said before Draco could even open his mouth to introduce himself. 

“Elm, dragon heartstring, 18 inches. A powerful wand Lucius,’ Ollivander murmured as his eyes glanced towards the staff which Draco’s father always carried around with him, knowing full well that the wand was in a compartment that could be pulled out in a moment’s notice, an impulsive act of vanity undertaken by Lucius Malfoy when he had come into his inheritance. 

Turning towards Narcissa, Ollivander’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to be recollecting something before reciting his mother’s wand’s details next. Draco couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. Surely this old man had served millions of witches and wizards throughout his lifetime, how in the world did he manage to remember every single one of them. 

As if answering his question, Ollivander spun around to face Draco: 

“The wands have a mind of their own Draco much like you and I, each unique and different in their own way, they have their own personalities I dare say. Each quite unforgettable,’ the old man dropped a wink at the gobsmacked boy and he suddenly transformed into a frightening pale apparition to an almost grandfatherly figure. 

Clapping his hands together with surprising strength, Ollivander turned to what seemed to be an infinite row of shelves behind him. 

“It’s time for the wand to choose the wizard once again,” Ollivander said, as he climbed up and fetched a sleek wooden box out from one of the cubbyholes. 

“Dragon heartstring, oak, 10 inches,” he opened the box, beckoning Draco to come forward and touch the wand. 

As his fingertips hovered above the wand, twitching with excitement, it was promptly whisked away again, shocked, Draco let out an exclamation of surprise and anger. 

“You didn’t even let me hold it!” he protested as Ollivander clucked playfully. “Sometimes my boy, the wand knows even before you do, that you’re not right for it,’ 

Draco then watched, becoming increasingly frustrated as box after box were pulled out and then once again fitted back right in. 

“Hmmmm,’ Ollivander hummed as his fingers hovered over a box that was the only remaining wand on the shelf. Pulling it out, he set it in front of Draco with thoughtful eyes. 

“Are you going to let me touch it this time?” Draco asked sarcastically, before receiving a swift pinch by his mother. “I’m sorry jeez,’ he mumbled, rubbing the aching spot. 

Not expecting much, Draco picked up the wand and almost thought, like the other ones that it was a complete doozy once more, but suddenly there was a rush of warmth that seemed to come from the deepest part of chest, which then radiated throughout his entire body, the same feeling he had had when he sipped some of his parents’ wine except this sensation was more electrifying as if the pure blood magic in his veins was finally activated, and ran through his entire body, zipping and zapping. 

He had never felt more alive. It was like finding something that he had never thought he needed but suddenly couldn’t imagine living life without. 

“Well, based off of this reaction I’d say the wand has finally chosen you, boy,” Ollivander nodded. “Hawthorn wood, a single unicorn hair core, reasonably springy,” Ollivander rattled out the details of Draco’s wand before placing it carefully back into the box and handing it off to the delighted young wizard. “That will be 7 Galleons.” 

The Malfoys, after half an hour in the dusty old shop were more than happy to pay the money and leave, while Ollivander stared up at the newly empty shelf, chuckling to himself at the irony. 

“Who would have thought that I would see the day that I sold the wand of the Boy Who Lived and it was right next to the wand of a Death Eater’s son!” 

Ollivander shook his head in the sage way that often wise men do, before heading to the back of his shop to continue the mysterious and lesser-known art of wand-making.


	5. Chapter 5

"Let's see," his mom muttered as her eyes tracked down the remainder of the list. "We've got you your wand, your cauldron and of course your owl so that you can send us letters while you're over there," she gestured to the gilded cage, where inside it contained one newly purchased barn owl. "Now, all we need is to get you measured for your robes and then you'll be all set for Hogwarts," she said in a tone that almost bordered on affection, while smoothing down her son's hair.

"What about a broom stick?" Draco drawled as they passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies, his blood quickening at the sight of the newest arrival the Nimbus 2000. A group of young boys around his age had already began congregating there, fawning over the well-polished, aerodynamic broom.

"Well Draco, you know you don't get to join Quidditch till your-,'

'Yeah, yeah first years aren't allowed," he pouted his voice tinged with disappointment, a sour looking coming upon his face. Quidditch was one of the things he looked forward to the most, ever since he had received his Hogwarts letter. Ever since he could remember, he would dream of mounting a broom and shooting forward into the clouds, zipping and zagging to look for the elusive Snitch, which would finish off the game with a neat 150 points, hearing the crowds scream his name, all of them in awe of him as he would land neatly and elegantly on the ground, the struggling golden ball clutched neatly in his fist.

"Don't be like that Draco," his mother attempted to persuade him softly as they arrived at the doorstep of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The slightly dull purple exterior would not have caught anyone's eye, but the brightly coloured robes of Hogwarts houses on display would.

Stepping in, Madam Malkin nodded politely to Narcissa, while at the same time eyeing Draco up and down carefully. Certainly not in a menacing manner, it was more like she was scrutinising him. Snapping her fingers, the dormant measuring tape danced to life, and like a snake under control by its charmer, it began winding its way around and along his limbs, while Madam Malkin jotted down its measurements.

Just as it was finished with the length of his right sleeve, there came a jingle as the door was opened, signalling a new customer.

A small boy, again about Draco's age looked hesitantly behind the curtain and was startled when Madam Malkin bustled up to greet him.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact,"

Draco turned his head ever so slightly, the only betrayal of interest he showed as Madam Malkin's assistant pinned another piece of cloth to measure the length of his robes. The boy was skinny, all long limbs and slightly lanky. Messy black hair seemed to sprout from the back of his head, as if he had just gotten up and not even bothered to brush his hair. Taped glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, the only accessory to his bright green almon shaped eyes.

"Hullo," Draco initiated the conversation as the new boy stood on top of a footstool. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes." the boy replied in a soft voice.

"My parents helped me get all of my stuff already but I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I only got a glimpse earlier and I really wanted a closer look at the new Nimbus. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow," nearing the end it was almost as if Draco was talking to himself as he thought of how popular he would be. A first-year with a broomstick! His father had always taught him that as Malfoys, they would always stand out of the crowd, so he decided he might as well make it easier for others to pick him out.

The young dark-haired boy tilted his head slightly as if Draco reminded him of someone.

Unbothered, Draco continued. "Have you got your own broom?" he asked, trying to see if he could make friends with this strange quiet boy. He rarely got to meet anyone of his age outside of the house so he pounced upon the opportunity to make friends with anyone of his age.

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No,"

Draco started to think this boy was a bit odd. Who in the world, well the magical world that was, had never heard of Quidditch before?

'I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

'No.' came the one word reply again.

Well maybe he just isn't that talkative. Draco thought to himself.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd hop right back on the train and leave, wouldn't you?" Draco was merely speaking the truth that had been in his family for generations. Year after year, all the witches and wizards of his ancestral line were in Slytherin, with the odd Gryffindor here and there but he had been taught that it was either he was a Slytherin or nothing.

"Mmmm,' the boy hummed in agreement.

As Draco was about to come up with another topic of conversation, growing increasingly irritated at his companion's lack of interaction, a man came into view. He was honestly the biggest man that Draco had ever seen in his life and he reminded Draco of the giants that his mother used to tell him about when he was younger. But it was impossible, ever since the Dark Lord's Uprising and eventual defeat, his giant allies had fled to the mountains and were never seen again other than the occasional intrepid with or wizard, and even then most of them never made it back to tell their tales.

He must have swallowed a whole BOTTLE of Skele-Gro when he was younger Draco speculated, wincing at the thought of the torturous bone growing concoction. Instinctively, he wrinkled his nose at the newcomer, he had always been taught that anyone who wasn't a pureblood was second class, beneath him and his family, and he was willing to bet his newly purchased robes that the man who was waving frantically in front of the store, his shaggy beard quivering in the breeze, was most definitely not a pureblood.

"I say, look at that man!" he alerted the boy to the man's presence, hoping that maybe they would be able to make fun of him together.

The young boy's green eyes brightened suddenly. "That's Hagrid,' a smile finally bloomed on his face. 'He works at Hogwarts.'

The name finally sunk into Draco's mind as he made the connection between the name and the huge man who was comically clutching at two huge cones if ice cream, the sweet dessert already beginning to trickle down the cone like a slow moving river.

'Oh,' Draco said with some distaste. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper,' the boy replied, slightly curt.

'Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of,' he lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "savage, lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed,'

"I think he's brilliant,' the boy replied in a cold manner, the only form of emotion Draco had ever heard in his voice in the past 10 minutes.

'Do you?" Draco sneered, not used to having people who argued against him. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead,' the boy resumed his mouse-ish manner, looking down at the hem of robes that were being pinned on him.

'Oh, sorry,' Draco attempted an apology, but it felt weird saying the words. He didn't often have to apologise and it must have come out sounding indifferent. "But they were our kind, weren't they?" he once again sniffed around, trying to gain more attention about the adolescent, to see if he was worthy of being a friend.

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean.'

Heaving a small sigh of relief, Draco could relax again, the boy next to him was pure-blood.

"I really don't think they should the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname anyway?'

Draco began relating what his father often said to him during his many many lectures of how Muggle-borns were poisoning the sacred waters of the pure-breed. It was all that he knew and although he found that expressing this opinion resulted in his father receiving numerous glares, it didn't seem to bother him. Desperate for his father's approval, he began sprouting the same words until it seemed to be the only right way of thinking.

The boy's face reddened and just as he was about to answer, Madam Malkin came tottering in. "That's you done, my dear,' motioning the dark haired boy off of the footstool.

Slightly disappointed at the turn of events Draco gestured to the boy as he was leaving. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,"

He didn't manage to get a response as the boy hurried out of the door to be greeted by the gatekeeper, Hagrid, the subject of much ridicule in his father's stories of Hogwarts.

As Madam Malkin continued to take Draco's measurements for new suits that his parents commissioned, his mind turned back to the strange boy whose name he still didn't know. However, not long after that, his thoughts returned to the sleek design of the new Nimbus and the various ways he could try and get it into Hogwarts without getting caught.

Had Draco known that the boy who was standing next to him had a strange lightning shaped scar on his forehead, he would have paid much more attention to the Boy Who Lived.


	6. Chapter 6

Puffs of smoke enshrouded Platform 9 and ¾, blurring the faces of students and parents together, punctuated by the indignant squawk of owls, ribbits of frogs and squeaks of rats all mingling together to create an atmosphere that encapsulated the feeling of the first day of school.

Draco looked up almost languidly at the iconic train sign, attempting to look indifferent as the other children around him muttered and ran around in joy. He had been trained since young by his father not to show any outward emotion in public.

Emotions are for the weak Draco his father had told him during one of their many lectures. They cloud your judgement, make you vulnerable, leaving you open to being hurt. They are useless and fickle things and you would do better to desensitize yourselves from them.

So, Draco's face remained impassive although the joy that sung in his veins was bubbling to the surface. He marvelled at the thought of living in Hogwarts, practising spells, watching Quidditch matches, feasts at the Great Hall and the one that he hoped for most furtively: making some friends.

His mother was busy performing inventory while his father was, as usual, looking disdainfully at everyone who passed by as if everyone were beneath him. Draco's attention instead was focused on the adjacent wall where students came barrelling through, with their trolleys, baggage, cages and books balanced precariously on top of them in piles that could only be described as being higgledy-piggledy. It never surprised him as more and more students appeared from the barrier that separated them from the Muggle station of King's Cross and Platform 9 ¾.

"Draco,' his mother placed a hand on his shoulder, as he tore his attention away from the barrier. "We have all of your things packed, but if you need anything else we'll send it to you by owl. Write to us the moment you reach okay?" she asked, and Draco could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes although... that couldn't be possible. Malfoys never showed emotion.

"Of course, mother," he replied as she nodded and hurriedly turned away.

"Son." Lucius called out sternly.

"Yes?" Draco asked, ever the obedient son and he approached his father confusedly, as he saw two young boys flanking his sides.

"These fine young men are Crabbe and Goyle," he said motioning initially to his left and then his right. "They'll be attending Hogwarts this year as well and their parents are...friends of mine, I'm sure all of you will get along pleasantly,"

Draco eyed the two boys warily. He was not yet used to interacting with kids of his age, but his curiosity got the better of him as he thought of the three of them potentially becoming friends.

Crabbe had a round chubby face, with a short buzz cut that looked like a shadow was creeping on his scalp. His ears were reminiscent of Draco's house-elf dobby, the way they jutted out the side of his face. Combined with his button nose and small almond shaped eyes, he seemed like the kind of boy that was a follower, not a leader. Goyle's stature on the other hand was slightly more impressive. Square-ish jaw, thin lips, slanted eyebrows and a wide nose made him look like sort of... henchmen or bodyguard.

Just as the thought formulated in Draco's head, the realization hit him. His father wasn't introducing these two so that they could become his bodyguards. Even by the furtive glancing of their eyes, Draco could sense that the duo weren't just looking out to make friends, they were actually scared of him especially with his father's hand clamping upon their shoulders.

In a slight moment of internal rebellion, Draco wished that he could reject the two boys in front of him and make friends of his own. He just wanted something that was untainted by his father's influence. He had hoped that Hogwarts would be that something, but it turned out to be ruined even before he stepped on the scarlet train.

However, his short mutiny was squashed when he heard the piercing whistle of the Hogwarts Express, alerting the children that it was time to board the train. Reluctantly, he turned to his two new forced companions and waved them forward. Now, instead of flanking his father, they were standing at his sides, making him feel absolutely ridiculous, he felt as if their hulking figures could squash his lithe one at any moment.

Thanks to his mother, all his things were already onboard courtesy of Wingardium Leviosa.

"Well, I suppose its time to say goodbye," Lucius said, giving his son a very brief side hug, the closes that he had ever come to show affection as Draco stood on the precipice of station and platform. His mother on the other hand was more open as she placed a very quick kiss on his sleek blonde hair.

"Stay safe Draco dear," she said, smoothing down his suit for what seemed like the millionth time ever since they had left home.

The train whistle screamed out once more, giving the passengers one more warning. Narcissa was forced to let her little boy go and watch him board the train as it began to slowly chug away, leaving a trail of smoke behind it and she watched as his pale face become smaller and smaller to the point where it was just a speck of colour against the background of the Hogwarts Express, before she and her husband Apparated back to the manor.

As Draco watched his parents fade away, he stuck his hand inside the pocket of his suit only to find a crinkly piece of parchment that had not been there before. As he took out the crumpled lump, smoothing it out against his palm, his hand shook as his eyes blurred with tears he could barely contain.

In his father's elegant script, it was as if every stroke was a small cut to his heart:

If you aren't sorted into Slytherin, you will not be allowed back home


End file.
